I Don't Know About You, But I Could Think Of A Metaphor Or Two
by i-once-wrote-a-dream
Summary: He knows he's fucked up. Crazy. Literally. Clinically insane.


He knows he's fucked up. Crazy. Literally. Clinically insane. And he knows he doesn't really deserve what he's been given in life. But it doesn't stop him from _taking and taking and taking._ Not when his everything is so beautifully laid out in front of him. His whole world wrapped in soft blond curls and a hoodie.

It scares him sometimes. How quickly his centre of gravity shifted. His entire universe zeroed in on the smaller boy he's come to love so fiercely. It still scares him because he's never felt happier drowning. He knows its drowning because he hasn't come up for breath yet. He's still holding himself underwater, because breathing means it's over and he wouldn't risk this for something as frivolous as breathing and _normal_.

Even thinks back to before, when he was stranded. Because he likes to think like that. In metaphors. He thinks of when Sonja was his island. When she kept him safely away from the treacherous waves and storms. He ran circles around that island until he knew every corner. Every grain of sand had slipped through his fingers, ever tree had been climbed, and then he was stuck in quicksand. Every time he moved he was just pulled deeper in _No, don't drink that_ and _That's not good for you._ He remembers the day he fell out of love with her. It was in the third year of their relationship. She was walking toward him, smile brighter than he had seen in a while. And he felt nothing. No more butterflies, or heart clenching. Just. Quiet. Familiar. And he knew it wasn't love because he remembered the quicksand. Love wasn't supposed to be confining. It wasn't rules and it wasn't this weird tip in their balance. He'd searched for a boat. A rope. Anything to pull him away from his prison, but nothing happened. No help came.

And then it happened.

Water began to creep up on the lonely island, pulling away chunks of land and tearing down the walls of trees around him. He saw the sky for the first time and smiled.

Isak is an ocean. Vast. Deep. Intoxicating. He makes Even lose his balance and nothing feels better than falling into him. He feels like he knows his boy, but as soon as it becomes familiar, he falls deeper, and finds new places to explore. Isak is an ocean, but he's also the sun and the moon and the stars. He's every planet. Every inch of the galaxy. And every moment with him is exciting and new, but also comfortable and safe.

Even knows he's a lot. He's pretty convinced no one can really love someone so fucked in the head. He once jumped from his third story window because he was convinced he could fly. It could have been a lot worse than some broken bones, and he didn't even feel the pain when he got up to try it again. He did it twice more before his neighbours called the ambulance. So yeah, he still doesn't see the appeal. Sure, he's objectively good looking. He knows it. Uses it to bend rules and charm people into loving him. But you can only love looks for so long. When the crazy bursts out, no one stays and in the end its just him. He still feels like he somehow tricked Sonja into their relationship. Until it became her job to sort him out. But he clung to her because she stayed. Maybe it wasn't love after all.

"I can literally _hear_ you thinking." Isak's grumpy voice pulls Even from his weird world of islands and galaxies. His breath gets caught in his throat and he's overcome with the feeling of pure love and adoration for his boy. Smiling, he climbs over blankets and limbs until he's hovering over him.

"Halla." It's not the retort he was planning on using, but its theirs. Their greeting. Their _hello, I love you._

"Halla." He's met with a sweet kiss. "Gonna tell me what's going on in that head of yours?" There are hands rubbing up and down his back, pulling him just a little closer.

"Just stuff. Nothing important." Even traces his cheek with his nose, inhaling the smell of home.

"Baby, you could tell me you're convinced Magnus is secretly an alien, and I'd still want to listen." The corner of his mouth quirks up.

Even shifts so that Isak can rest his head on his chest. It's his favorite way to hold his Isak. He can see his eyebrows pull and furrow. He can bury his face in the mass of soft curls. And, his personal favorite, Isak always, _always,_ does that thing where he tilts his head up. His silent request for kisses. It's the best thing on the world.

"Well, I was going to wait until I had all my facts, but since you're so keen on hearing my theories, I guess I can tell you. So, basically, Magnus is too –" A giggle rips through Isak's body.

"Shut the fuck up. You know what I mean." He does, but he's not sure if he's ready for Isak to know just how gone he is for him.

"I was thinking about you. And about before." They're staring in each other's eyes. Isak's searching, Even's open and honest. Isak nods a little, satisfied with whatever he found.

"Were there metaphors?" He snorts because _how the fuck does he know?_ Even's pretty sure he's crossed over into yet another level in the depths of Isak. He wonders briefly if it will ever end. This period of discovery. He's not sure it's possible.

"Yep."

"That's chill." And It really is. Because despite Even's beliefs, he feels incredibly loved. He's been in a state of constant conflict with these thoughts. On one hand he's waiting for the ball to drop. For Isak to be done with all of his problems. For that breath of air. That awakening from this dream. But he's also aware of every time Isak's eyes follow his movements. And the way he stumbles over his words around him. The way his beautiful man flushes at just a few sweet words. The way he holds him through the long nights, where his ocean seems so far away. And he can't see the stars or the sun. There's no sky in that world. No galaxy. Just dark. And suffocating. He doesn't move. And Isak doesn't ask him to. He takes the harsh words that sometimes force their way out of his mouth, and gives back love and hope and sunshine. It doesn't always get through, but more often than not, he can feel the rays of Isak's warmth part through his clouds of doubt and uncertainty.

Even is aware that his thoughts don't make sense. He lives in a world of metaphors and Isak is always the most beautiful ones. He likes to dip his fingers into similes and compare Isak to the best things in the world. Isak gets him. It's beautiful. He's beautiful. Sometimes he can see that _they_ are beautiful. He's still struggles with the idea of being truly loved. But he's also sure that Isak will change that. Is changing that.

 _"_ _Jeg elsker deg, Even."_


End file.
